


they're not taking us alive

by liginamite



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Pre-Movie, Psuedo-sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liginamite/pseuds/liginamite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing Stacker Pentecost has come to learn is that when disaster strikes, there are certain people that it just can't keep down.</p><p>Or, the long story of how three people dug their way out of tragedy and loss and came together as one very small, but very strong little family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they're not taking us alive

**Author's Note:**

> this ended up being a far bigger project than i ever intended! so it's going to be divided into chapters based on the year that each part takes place in. thank you all for reading so much, and the mod for putting together such a great project!!!! 
> 
> man i just love tendo choi

Stacker Pentecost always used to say that you could tell a survivor by their eyes.

There's something there, when you look at a person who clawed their way out of hell and pain from the bottom up, it's the way they look at you and you know they're seeing something else. They’re seeing the ways they can fight and claw and bite and snarl to get themselves out of danger, they’re searching for the upper hand. They’re looking to survive.

He's in San Francisco, eighteen hours after the initial attack, a mere eighteen hours after the world upended itself and panic spread like wildfire across the coast, across the country and then exploding violently into mass chaos as everyone groped for sense. He needs to gather up Luna’s things, needs to clean her apartment and perhaps, if he’ll admit it to himself, he needs a distraction. He’s already been assigned to damage control, to cataloging the amount of displaced citizens now, as the city scrambles to rearrange itself and come to terms with what’s happened.

He finds himself inside a dilapidated old building on the outskirts of the ruined city, speaking softly with a girl in scrubs. She looks impressed by his credentials and his uniform, but otherwise indifferent.

“This is the last resort shelter, sir,” the girl explains, gesturing towards the throngs of people gathered. Some of them sit in groups, but more of them are sitting alone, hunched together on cots only by necessity of space. Orange shock blankets are scattered here and there, draped over shoulders at a sad attempt at comfort. A few people are crying. “The ones who weren’t injured enough to send to the hospital, and the ones who couldn’t get to the bigger shelters first.”

Stacker can’t help but raise his eyebrows at what look like at least a hundred people. A lot of them look to be of lower class, and all of them are dirty and wearing tattered clothes. Some of them glance over at him, but judging by the way they barely spare him a second look, he's not the first military official to come in.

"And they're all homeless." It's not a question. She nods, gesturing with her pen.

"Oh, yeah. Military quarantine, we're in a state of emergency and most of San Fran is totaled, it cleared a path right through after it destroyed the bridge. Plus that… that thing's still out there, sir," she adds, and there's a flicker of fear in her eyes. She looks over her shoulder, making sure there’s no one listening in before she leans a little closer and speaks in a soft whisper. "I heard it's heading towards Oakland?"

"It is," he replies, scanning the crowd. She swallows, but doesn't ask about it further.

“Hey!” A man’s spotted him and is pushing his way through the throng of people, not impolitely but with clear intent, and Stacker turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. As soon as the man reaches him he’s speaking, determined. “I’m trying to find someone.”

“We are all trying to find someone, sir,” Stacker replies calmly, and from behind him the nurse clicks her teeth.

“Look, I know that. I know. But I’m just trying to find one of my guys, and I’m just praying you’ve seen him.” The guy looks drawn, deep bags under his eyes, his blond hair haphazard. He’s wearing what’s clearly a uniform, dirty though it is, and he gestures at it. “He’s just a kid, and without him you’re looking at like, hundreds more dead after that… _thing_ attacked us. Would’na gone back without him.”

Stacker wants to sigh and rub at the bridge of his nose, but the last part of that sentence had caught his attention.

“And you are?”

The guy shakes his head. “Just call me Mackie, sir. I captain one of the ferries, and my guy Tendo, he’s out there. I need to find him, alright? Or just know that he’s okay.”

At that, the man has definitely caught his attention. Stacker’s already heard about the one ferry that went back to the bay to load up on refugees that were stranded when the monster first attacked, already being praised on every news channel for the bravery and selflessness exhibited in the crew’s actions. It had been that ferry that prompted the others to return as well, until several of them were making the dangerous journey back and forth across the river. In a time like this the news programs are looking for whatever they can to try and calm the public down, to no avail though it might be, and the heroism of the public is just as important as the rest.

Mackie doesn’t look like he plans on giving up, his jaw set and his eyes hard.

“What does he look like?” Stacker finally asks.

He holds his hand parallel to the ground, flattened, to a height just at his chin. “Only this tall, black hair, kinda thin. He’s wearing the same outfit as me.” There’s a guilty air to the way he scratches at the nape of his neck. “Kid talked us into going back for the people stranded on the bay, but then the idiot ran out on us to find his grandfather in Chinatown. I haven’t seen him since, can’t get a hold of him. Phone’s aren’t working.”

It’s suddenly uncomfortable to speak.

“Chinatown,” Stacker repeats, and then elaborates. “It decimated most of Chinatown.”

Whatever color has been there leaves Mackie’s face, but he’s still determined.

“You don’t know Tendo like I do, sir, that kid’s smart. Smarter than he lets on. He got out.” It’s very clear that he’s grasping at straws, waving his hands around as he tries to figure out a solution aloud. “He’s gotta be in one of the other shelters--”

“I’m sorry,” Stacker speaks over him, and Mackie falls silently instantly. “But I have been to several, and I haven’t seen anyone who matches that description.”

“He’s gotta be alive,” he pushes, and Stacker resists the urge to run his hand down his face. He’s faced the same thing in the other shelters, from significantly more hysterical people, and maybe it’s Mackie’s determination that makes up his mind.

“I can’t promise anything,” he says, “but I’ll keep an eye out.”

The relief that washes over the man in front of him is palpable, and Mackie’s spine slumps as he practically falls into the cot behind him, his hands messing up his hair further before they slide to his face. Stacker remembers the name of the shelter, but if he’s to be honest to himself, the chances of anyone surviving after the creature’s assault on Chinatown is unlikely.

He goes through five more shelters (the tally keeps raising, it’s in triple digits and that’s only because they’ve separated the job up amongst the lot of them) before he startles, one particular person catching his eye. A young man in a bright blue button-up sitting by himself on a cot near the door. He doesn't look very old at all, but he's covered in grime and filth, the shirt on his back stained with crusted blue gunk, and it ages him significantly. There's blood smeared under his nose and caked under his nails, and dirty though he is, he matches the description Mackie had given Stacker.

He must sense someone staring at him because he jerks, and there's a look in his eyes when he glances over at Stacker, his knees hugged tight to his chest. It's not a look that belongs on anyone so young. After a moment, his eyes flick away again and Stacker watches as he sighs deeply, huffing out a breath over his knees as he presses his cheek to his thigh, turning his face away entirely. Stacker studies him quietly for a minute, and the man has to know he's being watched because his spine stiffens a little.

Positive now, Stacker questions the aid about the young man, and she glances over at him before licking her thumb and searching through the papers stacked on her clipboard. It takes her a long moment--she has a lot of papers clipped to it.

"Oh, yeah. Here we go. Um, Tendo Choi, twenty-one," the girl reads off finally, no real inflection in her tone. She's been through a lot of these today. "Lower San Fran, so he's as homeless as they come. He has some scrapes and bruises, nothing serious. He’s not saying anything, though. Common side effect of shock; we had to get all his info off his driver's license." She grimaces then, flipping the page. "He had a body with him when the med unit found him. We're assuming a relative, grandfather probably."

Stacker looks back up and studies him for a long moment, before he gently touches the aid’s shoulder and thanks her for her help. She shrugs a little helplessly, “you’re welcome, sir” and wanders off to interview the next refugee as Stacker makes his way towards the cot. Tendo doesn’t move when he approaches, but he can tell that attention is being paid by the tenseness of his spine.

“Tendo Choi?” he asks, all business, and Tendo’s eyes flick up to look at him, studying him for a long moment before he nods. This is a man barely out of adolescence, Stacker realizes now. Had a job and a life and even a plan, perhaps, but baby fat still clings feebly to the curves of his cheeks and his eyes are still wide, still unlined, there’s still youth in his limbs that’s slowly dripping out after the events of the previous day. Stacker straightens his back a little. "I'd like you to come with me, please. Your boss has been looking for you."

Eyes widen in shock, and a little bit of uncertainty. To make a point, Stacker pulls the badge out of his coat pocket, along with his ID, and shows him both. Tendo takes them in his dirty hands and studies them, his brow furrowed, and when he looks back up, an eyebrow is raised and his lips are pursed. It's almost comical, how unimpressed he looks.

"Ultimately it's your choice," Stacker adds lightly, slipping his badge away again when Tendo silently hands them back. "You can stay here, if you'd like. I can't make you do anything. But I don't think you really want to stay and count the bricks on the wall again."

He's stared at, confusion written all over the young man's face, and with that he turns to leave, clasping his hands behind his back. There's a scuffling behind him, hurried and panicked, and he can't help but smile privately to himself when Tendo falls into step with him.

"No," he says quietly, and his voice is scratchy, hoarse, and very, very miserable. Stacker looks down at him. "I don't.”

The very first thing Mackie does upon sight of Tendo is slap him hard across the face, but when Stacker’s moving forward he’s already gathering the smaller man into a tight hug, his hand splayed across the back of Tendo’s head. Tendo holds onto him as well, and even from where he’s standing Stacker can see how he’s shaking.

“You fuckin’ moron,” Mackie’s muttering, and he sounds enraged and relieved all at once, his fingers threading into the dark strands of Tendo’s hair and pulling angrily. He finally breaks the hug, holding Tendo out at arm’s length and looks him over. “Oh my god, you idiot. Do you have any idea how worried sick we all were over you? Are you crazy?”

“You know me, Mackie,” Tendo quips, but there’s a tiredness to his tone, an exhaustion that’s wearing down his limbs that tells Stacker he’s putting on a show, one that’s very different from what Stacker had seen in the shelter. “I’ve gotta take the moral high ground.”

“You nearly got yourself _killed_.” Mackie looks on the verge of bodily shaking him. Tendo doesn’t seem to have a response to that, settling for shifting his gaze to the ground. He’s begun to hunch into himself again, and there’s a guilt to his posture now. Even from where he’s standing, Stacker can see that Mackie’s regretting having yelled at someone who’s so very obviously not emotionally or physically up for it.

“C'mon, kid,” he sighs finally, and wraps an arm around Tendo’s shoulders. “Jodi brought some extra clothes from one of the shelters, we’ll get you outta these.” He reaches out and scratches at one of the crusty blue stains. “The hell is that?”

“It’s, um, damage control,” Tendo answers meekly, but he looks over his shoulder at Stacker. A careful wave turns Tendo’s head back around, and Stacker doesn’t see him again until he’s swung back again one last time, out of interest more than anything. He’s going to be heading back to Luna’s flat in the States, officially his given their lack of any other immediate relatives. He’ll have to start packing things up; Tamsin’s still fighting, and he hasn’t heard from her yet. But in this case, no news might very well be good news.

Tendo catches his eye when he’s up front speaking with the aides, and for the first time something of a light brightens in his eyes, recognition blending with familiarity. Then he’s politely pushing through the crowd, muttering apologies as he squeezes through. Stacker waits, mostly out of curiosity to see what it is he wants, but Mackie’s behind him, grabbing his wrist and explaining something that tightens the knot in Tendo’s shoulders.

Finally they hug tightly, Tendo’s face in Mackie’s chest for a long moment before patting him roughly on the back and making his way back over towards Stacker.

“Sir,” he greets, nodding. He’s wearing a knitted sweater that’s too large for him, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his hands now in his pockets. Stacker watches as he waves goodbye to Mackie, the latter walking away with his family. As soon as he’s out of sight, Tendo’s hand drops and he sighs deeply, scrubbing a hand down his dirty face. There’s no pretense anymore; just a man who has been through a very, very long day.

“You’re not going with him?”

“Most of us are homeless now,” Tendo replies, shrugging. He looks exhausted. “Mackie doesn’t have a place either so they’re heading to his mother’s in Monterrey and he invited me, but. He has a wife and kids so, you know, I just feel like added space…” He trails off, looking away, and suddenly, inexplicably, Stacker feels deeply for this young man.

“You don’t have anyone you could go to?” he asks, and Tendo’s mouth goes thin.

“Not unless you know where I can get some cheap tickets to Beijing,” is all he says in curt reply.

Stacker considers, for a long moment.

“Is there someone you can call?” he asks, and Tendo glances up at him. “That you could stay with, when everything is… calmer.”

“I. Yeah, probably.” His expression shifts into something thoughtful. “I do know a few guys down in Bakersfield.”

Stacker looks over at the crowd of people, wondering where they’re going to go, what they’re going to do to work this disaster out, and he turns away again, allowing Tendo to make his choice without pressure. “You can come with me, if you like. Just clean up after yourself and there shouldn’t be a problem.” He hears scurrying behind him again but then Tendo’s in front of him, walking backwards, head cocked in disbelief and confusion.

“You’re serious?”

Stacker simply raises an eyebrow at him, and Tendo, clearly bashful of his outburst, falls back into step next to him.

Luna’s flat is impeccable, surprisingly, simple with just a few pictures on the mantle, her clothes hung neatly in the closet. The keys clack against the coffee table as he puts them down, and Tendo trails after him, his shoulders hunched inwards as he glances around curiously. The ride had been quiet, but oddly comforting. Stacker isn’t one for mindless chatter, and he’s definitely not in the mood for current events or the weather, but Tendo doesn’t demand anything of the sort. His presence is enough, soft and warm and small. It’s a gift, Stacker thinks, to give so much without giving anything at all.

“The bathroom is over there, the kitchen to your left.” Tendo glances in the direction Stacker gestures towards, and he looks so utterly exhausted that his next course of action is to head towards the hallway to dig some blankets out of the linen closet. Tendo stands awkwardly by the door, scratching at a spot on his hand, until Stacker returns and asks, as carefully as he can, “would you like to shower?”

It’s a moot point. His clothes may be clean, but Tendo’s covered in dirt and grime and blood and, in a rare but delightful moment of normalcy, the kid looks down at himself and then back up, an eyebrow raised and mouth twisted sarcastically. “Maybe,” he replies, “but personally I think a healthy coating of disaster is good for the soul.”

Stacker chuckles before he can help himself. For the first time, Tendo’s eyes gain a little light, his lips turning up into something of a weak smile. He follow Stacker’s directions slowly, uncertainly, but it only takes a couple of minutes after the door closes for Stacker to hear a very low and irritable, “how the _hell_ do you turn this thing on.”

He reemerges only ten minutes later, far shorter a time than Stacker had expected. He looks a little healthier, but his skin is the sort of red that suggests he amped the temperature as high as it would go. Stacker managed to find a pair of sweatpants and a larger t-shirt in one of Luna’s drawers, and as uncomfortable as it feels to give a near stranger his sister’s clothes, at least said stranger looks a lot better, and that counts for something.

“Thank you,” Tendo says quietly, when he’s sat down and pulled his knees up to under his chin, just as he had been sitting on the cot. “For. For doing this.” There’s the unspoken question of why that Stacker can sense burning underneath his words. He chooses to ignore it.

“You’re welcome,” he replies simply, and that’s the end of that. Tendo manages to get through to his friends in Bakersfield, and they work something out.

They sit for a while, exchanging light conversation about nothing in particular. Stacker’s more than a little stunned to discover that Tendo’s got most of a college degree under his belt, only two years left before he finishes up. Tendo’s nursing a cup of tea that Stacker managed to dig up from the cabinet, speaking against the warp lip of the ceramic.

“Mostly it was ‘cause I didn’t have the money to finish,” he admits, shrugging. “Ma died in oh-ten, same year I graduated, and I managed to push on for a little bit but. I dunno. Couldn’t really muster up the motivation.” He laughs. “Plus I did a little time, minor misdemeanors. That kind of gets in the way of a college education.”

“Ever consider finishing up?” Stacker sets his own cup down with a soft clink. Tendo shrugs again, taking another, longer sip of his tea in what is clearly an attempt to prolong answering. It’s clear he’s well-versed in small talk, but whether or not he’s comfortable with it is another matter entirely. Finally he answers, and his words are carefully chosen.

“Probably. Given what’s going on, I can imagine there’s going to be an influx of work now.” He sighs a little, and Stacker can see him looking at his own reflection in the liquid. “Gotta figure out what to do with money, but I’d like to go back.” Something shifts in his expression. “My grandfather paid for some of my tuition. Said he was proud to have a grandson in college. He never got to go himself.” He’s looking away now, shoulders slumping, and his cup is shaking a little.

“You should go back,” Stacker replies after a moment, and Tendo glances over at him, his lips turned upwards into something of a smile.

“Yeah,” he says, and his eyes are red. “Yeah, you know, I probably should.”

They politely say good night later on, nodding to each other as Tendo pulls some of the blankets Stacker had found for him up and over, digging a little nest into the couch with the amount of blankets and sheets he has.

Stacker finds himself staring at the ceiling when all’s said and done, an arm thrown up over his head and the other draped over his stomach. It’s the first time he’s been able to sleep since the whole thing started, since he was first staring at the news broadcast, since his phone first started ringing. He’s yet to hear from Tamsin.

Luna is dead. There’s no getting around that fact. His sister has died, and he is in her apartment right now, trying to cope with it by housing a stranger. It’s not the smartest thing he’s ever done, but Tendo’s a good kid. Stacker needs time to grieve, he needs time to come to terms with it.

The bed still smells like her, and it is oddly comforting in the same way that it’s heartbreaking as well. He turns his face into the pillow and just breathes for a while, until something catches his attention. It’s a little noise, barely audible, but it’s there, and with a frown he’s swinging his legs over the side of the bed and heading out towards the living room.

He finds his guest curled up tight on the couch, the light from the TV reflected in his dark eyes. Tendo’s watching the news, astonishingly, and his arms are wrapped tight around his knees as he stares unblinkingly. Stacker looks, and nearly winces; the footage is of the monster, its path leading it miles away from San Fransisco by now, but the path left in its wake still clear by the police lights blinking in the distance.

The sound is nearly off, only a faint buzz, but it’s enough that Stacker can make out words, words from the reporter that are describing the increased death toll, the trail of broken buildings and corpses and blue blood that it’s left in its wake, the hundreds misplaced as it struggles to continue.

He’s going to say something, to make a comment, but it dies in his throat when he sees just how frightened Tendo looks, staring at the screen over the knobby curves of his knees. He looks like a child watching a horror movie, his eyes wide and scared, his knuckles white.

“Tendo?” Stacker says into the darkness, and the light flickers when Tendo blinks, still shaking.

“I.” He swallows. “I couldn’t sleep.” He turns back to look at the TV just as the reporter cries out, the monster destroying an enormous chunk of a building. Tendo's breath is coming in faster, his hands tightening noticeably where they grip his pants. Stacker watches him out of the corner of his eye; he's staring unblinkingly at the TV as the monster rages and destroys and kills, eyes shining and when the TV plays a roar Tendo's suddenly clamping his hands over his ears and burying his face into his legs. God, he's shaking, and without thinking Stacker reaches out, his voice firm.

“You should turn this off.”

“No,” Tendo says into his knees, but he’s shaking so hard his teeth chatter. “No. N-no, please, I’m fine, I’m. Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m fine.” He’s trying as sincerely as he can to calm himself down, but Stacker can see how his fingers are creeping upwards to clutch at his hair. Shudders run up and down his spine, violently, and finally Stacker walks over, reaches out and switches the TV off.

The living room is swathed in darkness save for what bleeds through the windows from the street, and in the silence Stacker can hear Tendo’s sharp, stuttered breathing as he tries to calm himself down. He moves carefully, slowly, setting himself down on the couch. It looks like the man before him is collapsing, trying to curl into himself until nothing else remains, the panic settling low and strong at the base of his spine and sending shivers wracking all the way up to his fingers.

It’s odd, the action of comforting someone. The two of them are in extraordinarily different circumstances, even if some of the details are the same, and for a moment Stacker is at a loss only because he’s not sure what to say. Finally, he speaks carefully, articulating each word to make it more real. “My sister died yesterday. Fighting that monster.”

Tendo takes another shuddering breath, and whispers, “my grandfather died yesterday, too.”

They sit there in heavy silence again for a moment, and finally Tendo continues, his voice soft. “A lot of people died yesterday.” There’s something refreshing in the tone, even as the words are horrible, because at last someone is _saying_ it. Someone is acknowledging it, without tiptoeing around the subject itself. Stacker nods.

“They did.”

“And that. That thing. It’s not going to stop unless we kill it.” His voice is growing steadier, the shaking slowing down as he speaks, but there’s still the clear undercurrent of panic beneath it. “It came out of the ocean. How many are down there?”

Stacker breathes slowly, because the question is made of iron, weighed down by the reality of it. “I don’t know.”

Tendo swallows hard, his head lifting up as he looks over at Stacker. The panic is far from gone, but it’s started to dissipate now, replaced by a stubborn fear that no one could possibly blame him for. He’s looking at Stacker with a strange expression, like he wants him to know all the answers, but doesn’t believe he has them. When he speaks, his voice is soft.

“What was your sister like?”

He swallows.

“Stubborn. She was very stubborn, never liked to listen to me much.” Stacker has never been one for emotional confessions, but he figures he can spare a few details. “We got into lots of fights as children, and a few as adults as well.” He nods his head towards the TV, even though it’s off now. “She was fighting it, is what I’m told.” He looks out the window, as if Tamsin might appear there like she did when they were younger, her hair wild and her knees scraped up. “Our friend is still out there, and I’m hoping she comes home in one piece.”

Tendo’s expression shifts, and he turns away again, unsure of how to continue.

“They said they’re calling it the Trespasser,” he finally says, and shakes his head a little. “Makes sense, I suppose. It definitely doesn’t belong here.” He sags, so clearly tired, but unwilling to go to sleep. In an effort to comfort him, Stacker echoes his own question.

“How about your grandfather?”

Tendo’s laugh is strained.

“I didn’t know him very well, because my Cantonese is shit, and my mother could only translate so much, you know? But I love him… loved him, Yeye was a good man and.” He swallows. “And, it’s. Hard.” The shaking seems to be starting up again, slightly. “It’s hard because I watched him die, and he--” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair until it’s messy and hanging in his eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m saying, but man, I. I close my eyes and I see him coughing and dying and there’s nothing I can do to stop it and I don’t really want to sleep.”

It’s understandable, completely, and with this explanation a lot makes sense. He finally reaches out and touches Tendo’s shoulder again, shaking him.

“You’re very brave, you know,” he says quietly. “I heard about what you did, both with the ferry as well as your grandfather.”

Tendo laughs weakly.

“I’m really, really not,” he says, “but thank you.”

They sit in silence for a while longer, neither of them sure of what to say, but the next time Stacker looks over at him, Tendo has shifted into a more comfortable position and he’s dozed off, probably sleeping for the first time in two days. He stands, quietly, and heads back to the bedroom. After that, their conversations are light and friendly, but there’s something else in Tendo’s step, as if a weight’s been lifted off his chest. And oddly enough, Stacker feels the same way.

Two mornings pass before Tendo’s friends are able to meet him. The traffic isn't ideal, and they’re going to have to pick him up on the other side of the bay. But it’s better than nothing, and Tendo’s practically bouncing as he waits for the one ferry that is still running, manned by volunteers trying to help in whatever way they can. He’s still wearing the too large sweater, staring off at the destroyed bridge.

“Take care of yourself,” Stacker tells him, when they’re standing on the docks, the ferry to the other side of the bay slowly making its way towards the platform, the small gaggle of people waiting for the doors to open and allow them in.

“Yes, sir,” Tendo replies, and to Stacker’s amusement, he salutes, hand stiff and smile threatening to break through the corners of his mouth.

“You’re not a soldier, Mr. Choi,” he says, but Tendo just gives him a wry look, his hand coming back down again and his back straightening. Even with the ruined city as his backdrop, there’s something defiant in his tone, something that seems to have changed overnight.

“No, sir, not yet,” is all he replies with, turning as the line begins to move. “Not yet.”

_**2016** _

Stacker’s flicking through some of the larger piles on his desk when one of the professors from the academy sticks his head in, looking a little ruffled. It’s clear he’s had a rough day, and in his hands he’s got some manila folders, the colored tabs bright against his dark suit. Stacker recognizes him as one of the heads of the Jaeger Tech Department, the ones who specialize in LOCCENT training as well as the construction of the giant machines themselves.

“I have those files you requested, sir,” he says, and Stacker beckons him closer, holding out his hand for the papers. “Only the best and brightest from the class.”

Stacker starts flicking through the files. There are only five of them, the only ones with top grades and outstanding performances, the ones who stand separate from the other students. He’s aware of how difficult some of the J-Tech training can be; not as strenuous as some of the tests the pilot hopefuls endure, but still requiring intellect far surpassing most of the general public.

The second to last file grabs his attention. Ridiculously good scores on most of the required studies, a bachelor’s in computer engineering, but there’s a annotation on the bottom of the file, describing a cocky attitude and a smart mouth.

Finally, Stacker sighs through his nose as he looks at the picture of the student, the tilted smirk familiar, and the name printed in bold above it.

“Would you look at that,” he mutters under his breath, and sticks that file on top of the others.


End file.
